


Revenant

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [20]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:49:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Galadriel finds out that there is a place for a rose-bush, even in the cold of Himring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenant

Notes: Aredhel is lost in Nan Elmoth. With her disappearance, Fingon’s cruelty and Fingolfin’s slow deterioration, Galadriel has nobody to turn to in Barad Eithel. She travels to Himring with Maedhros, intending to stay there until her brother returns to Nargothrond. What shall ensue, given that the spectre of forbidden love would always stand between them? Pride rules them both, who will yield first? Galadriel will not give in an inch, knowing her opponent’s weaknesses too well.

Warnings: some mature themes, a dash of psychology, and lazy philosophy. All warnings for The Journal Arc apply. Well, this is it, the last of The Journal of Fingolfin interludes. No more plotfilling here. I can finally move to the next set.

 

Not revised/edited yet. 

Revenant - one who returns (from death).  
Telpë - Celebrimbor  
Artanis - Galadriel

 

Riding was not an activity I enjoyed overmuch. Perhaps it was because I had always associated the act with hunting and other wild pursuits of my brothers and cousins. I deigned to ride only when it was necessary. My equestrian skills were passable, but certainly not enough to keep along with the hardened warriors that formed our escort.

“Faster, my lady,” one of the men said sharply. “These lands are unguarded and we cannot afford to linger after dusk.”

“Even if you drive the horses to their limit, you will not cross the plains ere dusk,” I retorted. 

“We wouldn’t have been delayed if not for your slow pace,” he said, frustration clouding his eyes as he turned to examine the surround. 

I threw him a haughty glare before spurring my mount on, so that I came abreast with my cousin, who was at the head of the company.

“Saddlesore?” he asked amusedly, without turning his face to look at me.

“How many more days?” 

“A week’s hard riding,” he said lightly. “But since we have to consider you, it might take ten days.”

“You needn’t give me leeway,” I said disdainfully, furious that he considered me less capable than his warriors. “Keep to the pace you are used to.”

He reached across to halt my stallion before dismounting. I raised my eyebrows, silently demanding an explanation.

“Get down.”

With a deeply tried sigh, I complied. He removed his cloak and spread it over my horse’s back, cushioning my seat. Before I could say anything, he had helped me up again and mounted his mare. 

“I don’t need to be coddled as if I were a woman of the Sindar,” I said sarcastically, trying to hide my gratitude for his solicitousness. I was saddlesore and my skin was chafing horribly upon the hard leather.

“I do the same when I wear robes while riding,” he confided easily. 

“Robes and gowns are damnably trying when one rides for extended periods without respite,” I agreed whole-heartedly, all the while wondering how he knew me well enough to say the one thing that would set me at ease.

“No wonder why Irissë chose to wear Tyelko’s breeches under her gown while riding,” he remarked. “She has always exhibited admirable commonsense.”

It was one of those things that irked me. He had always got along well with Irissë despite their lack of common pursuits and interests. But he and I had much in common and yet remained respectably distant and polite in our dealings with each other. 

“I am not surprised that Irissë disdains decorum in favour of comfort,” I said rather coldly than warranted, drawing a surprised glance from him. 

“I have always held that comfort and efficiency are crucial considerations. Decorum and appearances don’t matter unless you seek to impress someone who does not hold you in great esteem.”

He was a good philosopher. Unlike Macalaurë, whose poetic ramblings ranged from the obscure to the pessimistic, Maitimo’s philosophy stayed confined within the limits of pragmatism. But since I knew Macalaurë in almost every sense I have always preferred his brand of thoughts to his brother’s optimism. 

“If decorum matters not, whyever did you insist upon secrecy where your relationship with Findekáno was concerned?”

His fingers stilled in their task of fumbling with the buttons of his tunic. I knew I had crossed a boundary.

“I apologize, let it pass,” I said hastily, not wishing to try the limits of his chivalry.

“No.” He sighed and turned to face me, his eyes sparkling in the faint winter sunlight, holding remarkable depths of compassion and wisdom. “I understand now that it was a mistake. If I had not adhered to secrecy, I might have spared you from what you went through.”

“Everyone knows that he indulges in the drink more than he ought to.”

“But not everyone knew that our doings had affected him more than I wished. I…” He waved his hand eloquently, trying to express through action what he could not do through words.

“Let it pass,” I said again. Often had I wanted to cause him discomfort in a verbal joust, for I envied him his eloquence. But now that he seemed at a loss for words, I found that I felt incredibly guilty.

“I am worried about Irissë,” he diverted the discussion. “Findaráto and Tyelko are continuing the search to the west.”

Nolofinwë had never been the same since Irissë’s ill-advised venture. Nor had I known peace after hearing of her disappearance. Despite my aloofness, Irissë had always taken the pains to ensure my well-being. If not for her kind, loving heart I wouldn’t have made the journey across the Helcaraxë. She cared about the family, in the same way as Nolofinwë did. But she had inherited more from her father’s half-brother than from her parents. Her impulsive, reckless, fiery nature had always led her into scrapes. I loved her, for all that she was to me; playmate, sister, foil, pest and confidante.

“What found you in Nan Elmoth?” I asked him, my voice faltering. 

“Nothing significant,” my cousin said quietly. 

“You lie.”

He twisted in his seat so that our gazes met. His eyes were ridden by weary guilt as he murmured, “I fear for her, Artanis. We were too late.”

My fingers tightened on the reins of my horse as I whispered in horror, “Is she--?”

“No!” He looked terrified at the very suggestion. “Tyelko would know if that happened, they were bonded.”

“Who has her? Tell me, Maitimo,” I pleaded for an answer, my imagination graphically depicting every possibility ranging from the Hunter to the Naugrim.

“They say that Nan Elmoth bears the enchantment of Eol the Dark, formerly of Doriath, who was once the carnal companion of Elwë Singollo.”

His precise, clipped tones spoke more of his deep resentment towards Eol than any rant could. This was the same manner in which he referred to Angband and its inhabitants. I brought my cold fingers to my chest and gasped as I made the connection.

“Findaráto!”

“Don’t fear, Artanis,” he said gently, reaching across to squeeze my shoulder with his good hand. “Irissë is high-spirited and courageous. Eol shall safely escort her to Himlad, I promise you. He is a Sinda, but he is not without honour. Findaráto tells me that Singollo believes in Eol’s steady heart. He will do her no harm. At the worst, he might teach her Sindarin and that would be a kindness, since her accent is atrocious.”

When I looked up into those grey eyes, I knew that he did not believe a single word that he spoke. But I tried my best to convince myself that he was right. I wanted to see her, as soon as I could. Nothing would happen to her, I told myself. She would return soon, and regale us all with heady tales of adventure and carnality. 

 

My first impression of his stronghold was that it resembled my mother’s bald, plain cakes. The incongruity of the comparison made me smile. 

It stood alone, proud and defiant, upon the bare hill, looking over the plains of Lothlann. The flags of our house flew gaily in the wind bearing bleakness from the east. 

The east…As we rode up the winding pathways, more than once did my cousin cast his gaze in the direction. I did not have the courage to look upon the hell that had broken him. I wondered how he could bear living near the place. 

Small settlements dotted the mountain. Sturdy women of the Edain with pots on their heads, their faces content and bonny faced. A young boy crossed the path, coming dangerously close to being trampled underneath the feisty chargers of the convoy. Maitimo called out a remonstrance and the child stuck its tongue out. 

“The scamp!” Maitimo exclaimed; his voice was warm though his eyes were still lingering on the shadowy stronghold to the east. 

The boy’s feistiness reminded me of Irissë again. I tore my eyes away from those mischievous eyes and concentrated on the path. 

 

Women were scarce in his household. It was not something I had anticipated, the lack of like company. I missed Irissë now more than ever. Preoccupied as Maitimo was with the concerns of his lands and warriors, the relentless vigil he kept over the plains, and the matters of administration, I did not have the pleasure of his company often.

Silence was a boon…and a curse. Alone and weary, I thought of Macalaurë. If I had married him, I wouldn’t have been alone. But it would have taken us down a path of mutual hatred and unhappiness. Being wise, both of us had resisted the lure of the easy way out. Now, having lost love and hope, I regretted our decision. It was a regret so consuming that it denied me even the liberty of tears. 

Nights were my bane. Alone in the large chamber, I would relive the bitter night that had broken me. Sleep was elusive and peace nonexistent. But unlike Maitimo, I was always careful to not succumb to the temptation of rest. His weary body craved relief from his toils, but he slept only to be caught ensnared in the webs of the past, allowing him no reprieve. With draughts and boring books, I coaxed myself to silent vigils that waited out the nights. I would have sought his company since it was strikingly obvious that neither of us was passing the night restfully, but I was proud and would not ask for anything. 

 

“Lady!” a warrior hailed me as I stood alone upon the fortifications, my thoughts dismal and brooding.

I hastened to him, wondering if anyone had been hurt in a skirmish. In my uncle’s household there were many healers of repute. My skills were rarely called upon. Only while nursing Maitimo back to health had I been of service. But here my cousin allowed me free rein. Often did I visit the small hamlets to help the ailing and the wounded. 

“You must come!” he said urgently. 

I nodded and hurried to fetch my herbs, taking all liniments that I could lay my hands on in the shortest time. I thought of leaving a message for my cousin. But he had ridden out and would not be back ere dusk. 

“They have brought her to the next village,” the warrior was saying as he led my horse to the courtyard and helped me mount. “It is a hopeless cause, they say.”

I refused to be drawn into a conversation, instead spurring my horse on. No life would Namo seize from my care if my will prevailed. 

We arrived at the hamlet just as the snowfall started. I had not thought to bring along a cloak. But it was no time to worry about trifles. People were gathered around the headman’s house, their faces drawn and grim.

“It is the lady!” they called out as I made my way to the house. The crowd parted and let me enter the dwelling.

There, upon the pallet, lay a woman younger than I was, her breathing harsh and pained. Many older women were huddled about her, their wails rending the air. 

“Silence,” I admonished. There was nothing I hated as much as women crying.

“You can’t do anything!” One of the older women screamed. “Why didn’t they kill her? Why didn’t they just kill her?”

I stilled, my body involuntarily flinching in remembered pain. The pungent scent of stale blood and sweat hung heavy in the house. 

“Let me be the judge of what I can do,” I said sharply, not letting my deepest emotions surface even for the smallest fraction of time. 

I am Artanis. I know no fear. 

How many times had I repeated those sentences to convince myself so? Now faced by the brutality of men wilder than beasts, I knew I could no longer hide away behind masks carefully constructed. 

I did all that I could do, my fingers trembling and my heart thudding wildly. Faint I felt and claustrophobic was the room, the atmosphere being helped not at all by the wails of the women and the silent grief of the men awaiting Namo’s errand to their abode. The murky depths of the eyes that wildly looked about the chamber were filled with hopelessness and death. She would not last. 

“She seeks something,” I told the women. 

As if answering my question, a young boy’s cries came from without, his voice breaking as he called out aloud for his mother. My fingers halted their task as the woman I nursed whispered her son’s name, motherhood discerning the fruit of her loins even amidst pain and death. 

“Artanis!” Maitimo rushed in, his features drawn in worry. 

I could only look as he knelt by the pallet and drew the woman’s hands into his own before murmuring softly in the tongue of the Edain. The desperate panic in her eyes faded to quiet, accepting grief and she whispered her child’s name again. He nodded and had the boy brought in, despite my stern glare; the same boy who had mischievously stuck his tongue out when we had arrived at the castle. 

I turned my head away, not wishing to witness the rest. The boy was hoarsely asking if she was upset by something e had done. With his name on her lips, she passed away into the keep of one colder than the mountain she had dwelled upon. 

“Oh, mother!” he was crying. “I promise I won’t be bad again. Please laugh as you do always! Laugh!”

There was nothing left for me to accomplish there. Namo had won. Dazed and benumbed, I left the dwelling wondering if I ever would prevail over the doomsman. 

When a familiar hand squeezed my shoulder, I pushed it away and turned to face him disdainfully. 

He sighed and said nothing, letting me regain my shaken composure. That I was indebted to his tact made me furious.

“What about her man?” I asked in a low voice.

“It was an ambush. The woman and her husband were travelling to his parents’ home in Carnistro’s lands. He is dead.”

“Shall women always be the vessels to slake lust within?” I cursed bitterly. 

His hand came to cup my jaw, forcing me to meet his penetrating gaze. A cold wind blew from the lands that our foe ruled. I had misspoken. His eyes gave away nothing of what he had endured, but it would always fester in his heart just as memories of Findekáno’s drunken cruelty would torment me ever. 

“Beasts care not what the vessels are,” he said crisply, his voice not wavering in the least. “Come, we must return to the castle. I have many things to see to.”

I followed him silently, steeling myself not to hear the wails that rose in the air intertwining with the heavy fumes of bonfire smokes lending substance to the prayers which a cursed people made to the Gods that heeded them not. 

 

Thoughts and tiredness cast a net so strong that I was enmeshed. There, within the dreams, the woman I had failed to save lived yet. Findekáno was drunk and forcing his attentions upon her. I called out a warning as her laughter stilled and fear rose on her features. But the vision shifted to show me what I strove my best to forget, of my voice screaming and nails clawing in the carpet as drunken lust was slaked upon me. 

An ephemeral caress bestowed upon my forehead and a hushed voice recalling me to the land of reality saved me, for the day. Grey eyes were rimmed with regrets and guilt as he murmured soothing words that would never yield consolation to both of us. Hands were clutching his shoulders; my hands. Was I trying to anchor myself or endeavouring to pull him down with me into despair? It was his name that Findekáno had shouted in an agony of longing. It was his name that Macalaurë had always bit down his lips upon when he made love to me. 

“Will I be always your substitute?” I whispered, memories of denied love and pain spurring me into bitter recklessness.

His eyes widened and true turmoil flooded them as he spoke, “You have seen that I blame myself for Findekáno’s actions.”

“I speak of Macalaurë!” I hissed. “You pushed him into a craven marriage and rendered us all miserable. I had only a paltry part of his heart; but even that I lost because of your intolerance!”

He sat down heavily on the bed, his fingers coming to pry one of my hands away from his shoulder. Macalaurë’s love would always stand between his brother and I, as a spectre of all that he meant to us. It would drive us apart and yet, bring us together stuck as we were in the same pit of misery.

“You deserve more than a paltry measure of anyone’s heart,” he said finally, his voice strained. 

“When has a scion of Finwë received what is deserved?” I asked him furiously, sitting up and drawing my knees up protectively. “You are cursed! Not only did you destroy Findekáno’s sanity, but you also had to drive Macalaurë and I apart, forcing him to marriage with a woman who knows nothing of where his heart lies, at your undeserving feet. She loves him, you fool! She loves him as you have never loved anyone. I love him more. But he loves a coward who practices not what he preaches of hearts, laws and Gods, a coward who finds security in pain rather than chancing love!”

“If you think that my forbearance extends to allowing you to heap disdain upon my cowardly heart underneath my own roof, you are mistaken!” 

He rose to his feet scornfully, his eyes narrowed in anger. Rarely had I seen him so furious. The novelty of it ensured that I watched, stunned, as he strode out of the chamber, leaving me alone but for the shadows playing on the walls upon the canvas cast by moonlight. 

The silver whispers of wind touched by the moon’s radiance served only to remind me of my body entwined with Macalaurë’s underneath the trees of a glade adjoining our early settlement near the Mithrim long ago.

* * *

Perhaps it was the long ride that I had undertaken the previous day taking its toll on my body. My weary limbs refused to cooperate to push myself off the bed in the morning. I willed myself to get dressed and walk to the dining chamber. 

To my surprise, my cousin was already there, speaking merrily with the young lad who was setting the table. Our eyes met for the fraction of a moment before he nodded crisply and returned his attention to the lad, his demeanour easy and graceful. I sat down across him and fiddled with my food, wondering if he would demand an apology for the last night’s happenings. I had never favoured porridge. And on this day, it was more unappealing than usual. I suppressed a sigh and began making slow inroads into the full bowl, not wanting to bring my loss of appetite to my cousin’s notice. 

“I do hate milk, you know,” he was complaining to the lad who poured him a large tumbler of buffalo milk. 

I crinkled my nose at the strong scent and leaned back in my chair, wishing he would drink it down fast and spare my nose. 

“But your brother, the lord Carnistro, has left strict instructions,” the lad was teasing him. “He shall have my hide if I renege on his orders.”

“I think your hide suits you well,” Maitimo was saying with a charming smile, eliciting a deep blush from the lad. The scent of buffalo milk was starting to give me a headache. 

“My lord is kind,” the attendant demurred. “But I cannot lie to your brother.”

I leapt to my feet, bringing my palms to my mouth as I did so, fighting down the heaving sensation torturing my throat. My stomach clenched and my legs felt heavy. It was as well that Maitimo leapt over the table and drew me to him, for my legs gave out as I vomited, my breathing painful and laboured. 

“Shall I call for the healers, my lord?” the lad was asking worriedly, the tumbler of buffalo milk still in his hands.

“Yes, please,” he said.

“No!” I said raggedly, drawing in great gulps of air. “I am fine. I need rest; that is all.”

“I happen to disagree, Artanis,” he began firmly.

“No.” 

I pulled away from his grasp and turned to face him. His grey eyes were shining in true concern as they swept over my form.

“I shall rest.” 

I did not wait to hear his reply as I all but fled the chamber. When I had locked the door to my bedchamber behind me, I rested my head against the wood and stared into the fireplace furiously.

“I did not need this,” I cursed the Gods. “Why do you test me so, unfeeling brutes?”

Predictably, they did not reply. I was deeply tempted to cry. But I would be rather damned than crying to deplore the games played on my fate by the merciless fiends across the sea.

“Father!” The whisper cost more pain than I shall acknowledge, “Oh, Father! Why did you abandon me? I killed for you. I killed because I loved you. I-”

I took a deep shuddering breath and steeled myself. Wasting my time dwelling upon the cowardly actions of those I had left behind would not help my plight. 

 

It continued, though I tried to mask the sickness by all means that I could. Maitimo was called away often because of the concerns of the land and did not notice the slow progression of my ailment. Even if he had, I knew that he did not have the necessary experience or knowledge to identify the cause. The lack of women in the household too helped my secret. 

“Artanis?” 

It was unusual for my cousin to seek me at such an early hour. We had stayed out of each other’s path following the last, bitter argument we had. Had he put it behind him? 

Dawn had not yet broken. Sighing, I massaged my swollen feet and forced myself to the door, wondering what his errand was. He looked weary and haggard. I stepped out into the corridor and tilted my head inquisitively.

“Were you asleep?” he asked me, his eyes holding a measure of uncertainty.

“What else would I be doing at this hour?” I retorted, and immediately regretted my impatience, for his jaw clenched in anger.

“Very well,” he said blandly, the veil of courtesy hiding his emotions. “I shall leave you to your rest.”

As he turned and began walking towards his study, his frame taut in pride, I sighed and rubbed my palms on the coarse material of my gown to warm them.

“May I share your company?” I called after him. “I don’t think sleep will find me again this night.”

He did not reply, but he turned around and held out his hand. I followed him into the brightly lit study and allowed him to settle me down on the couch by the fire, cascading blankets over my chilled feet. He poured us both generous measure of warmed wine and pressed a goblet into my unresisting fingers. I looked up at his sculptured features silhouetted by the dancing flames. His eyes were limpid and calm as they met my scrutiny. 

“Well?” I asked him, though it seemed redundant.

He raised his goblet with a wry smile and said, “Trust you to do away with prevarication.”

“Is there news of Irissë?”

“I wanted to speak of something else,” he said easily. “It has to do with what we spoke of rather heatedly the other night.”

I set down the goblet and said pensively, “It shall again result in a heated argument, cousin.”

“You stand fast on your views expressed that day?” he asked quietly, his eyes gaining a measure of the fire that always shined in his brother’s eyes. 

I rose to face him and said as detachedly as I could, “I am a woman of deep pride. To be used by a man and to be cast off by another does not sit lightly with me. You happen to be the reason behind both actions.”

“I had not…” he paused thoughtfully before re-moulding his sentence. “For our cousin’s cruelty, I hold myself responsible.”

“I don’t.” My voice was flat. “He was drunk. He did not remember.”

“But-”

“It is the other part that makes me resent you,” I went on hastily. His eyes shone with pure anger and desperate regret on hearing my words.

“I had not known the depth of Macalaurë’s regard,” he said quietly, his mien carved from weary sorrow. 

“Everybody except you knew,” I said bitterly. “You did not notice, or perhaps you had found it better to not notice.”

“Artanis!” he exclaimed in shock. 

“How is anyone to know, cousin? You are an excellent actor. You have never worn your heart on your sleeve! Perhaps you had known all along and been content to watch him foolishly persuading himself to love me. Perhaps you had known I meant nothing to him all the while, even when he courted and wooed me!”

I slumped down onto the couch and glared at him. He had frozen with his goblet brought halfway to his lips. A swallow graced his long throat before he took a seat across me and met my gaze in trepidation.

“I swear that I had not known,” he said finally, earnestness lending his pallor a flush of colour. “You must believe me.”

“I cannot.” I was weary of men and I was wearier of believing their words. “It gives me no pleasure to continue this conversation, cousin.”

He nodded, though his eyes remained murky with turmoil. We spoke of lighter matters, taking pains to avoid all references to both Findekáno and Macalaurë. Gradually, his eyes turned languid and his replies came slower, as he tried to stave off sleep. Irissë was a specialist in making people sleep by virtue of her conversation alone. I was forcibly reminded of her as I watched Maitimo give in to reverie with but little resistance. His features were softened in slumber making him seem younger and less harried. I gathered a couple of the blankets, intending to spread them over his form and leave for my own chambers.

I banked the fire and turned to leave. But he looked so deeply peaceful that I could not suppress a sigh and let my fingers run through his crimson mane. My hand came to rest on his forehead and I was about to withdraw it, not wishing to disturb his rest. 

He had sworn that he knew nothing of Macalaurë’s regard. Had he been speaking the truth? I was not proud of my actions, but I needed to know if I could trust any man again. Resolution steeled my mind and I returned my palm to his forehead. I closed my eyes and began probing his relaxed, vulnerable mind, letting tendrils of my conscious warp with his own.

 

Walking beside Nerdanel on the seashore and collecting shells…laughing as Nolofinwë taught him to climb a tree…looking up at his father in awe as Fëanáro placed a slender circlet on the crimson mane…teaching Macalaurë to write…

 

I frowned and delved deeper, seeking more than memories of his golden childhood.

 

Fëanáro clinging to him and sobbing, blood staining them both…anger and fear as the ships burned…watching in horror as his father’s ashes were scattered in the air…chastely kissing Macalaurë’s forehead in farewell as he left for the parley…

 

I halted, my heart thudding madly. A frown creased his features though his rest remained peaceful and undisturbed. He had spoken the truth then. Until the day he had left for the parley with Moringotto, he had not known of Macalaurë’s regard. I wiped off the sweat from my brow. I should have left him to his sleep, but revenge seized hold of my mind, for I brought back my hand to his forehead. I was driven by bitterness and anger. It had been his name that had escaped Findekáno at the height of his drunken lust. It was always his name which Macalaurë had tried to smother by kissing me when he lost himself to the crash of passion. 

A woman, beautiful and fading…dungeons dimly lit and cold…trembling hands caressing his face…of a guardian in the darkness watching over him…a dangerously silken voice asking questions…

Sweat broke on my features and I gasped as the voice began rising in volume, seizing me in thrall of its power, rendering futile the panicked attempts of my mind to resist. 

“It is him!” My cousin’s frightened voice rose even as I screamed. 

He pushed me down onto the rug, away from him, breaking the contact between our bodies. I lay there gasping heavily, trying to stop the whimpers that escaped me even as I registered the blessed escape from the thralldom of the powerful voice. 

“Hush, it is over,” he said as he fell to his knees beside me and soothed my forehead in reassurance. 

I shook my head, finally comprehending the bare surface of his suffering. I did not ever want to know what lay beneath the surface. His frame was shaking badly; his eyes still remained wild and frightened. Clumsily, I rose to a sitting position and embraced him. My body shuddered just as badly as his form continued to. His hand came to stroke my spine gently even as he murmured words intended to calm. 

“I am so sorry,” I whispered, tears running down my face as I relived what I had been through. “I am so very sorry.”

He laughed; that queer, bitter laugh which had been his companion since Thangorodrim. It stirred my guilt deeper. I wondered what apology would suffice. 

“Are you hurt?” he was asking, in something close to his normal, suave tones. 

“I am pregnant.”

His hand froze in its path along my spine and a sharp inhalation escaped him. I withdrew, steeling myself for the conversation that lay ahead. He made as if to pull me back into the embrace, but I was proud and would take no pity from him.

“Does it surprise you?” I asked blandly, even as an inferno burnt my guts. 

He sat down on the rug and stared into the fire. It was his finest method of escapism. Macalaurë would always get irritated when Maitimo began staring into the fire and speaking in riddles. 

“Don’t get started with your philosophy,” I warned him. 

He said quietly, “I don’t know what to say, Artanis.”

“Did you think that any of us knew what to say when you were brought back from Angband?” 

The very name of the place made him flinch and return his gaze to the fire. I sighed and rested my head against the couch.

“To be truthful,” he said thoughtfully, “I did not want anyone to refer to it. In fact, that all of you thought my burden would be eased by confession was pure idiocy. I prefer to put it behind me and continue living.”

“I can hardly do that now, can I?” I asked bitterly. “His seed has taken root in me. In the end, all it required was one night to teach Artanis her place.”

“I will not have you speaking thus.” He reached across to touch my knee, a frown coming to mar his forehead. “You are one of the bravest people I have known.”

“I cannot-” I gulped and began again. “It would kill me, cousin. I will fade.”

He held my gaze for a long moment before I sighed and looked away, unable to take in the compassion of those grey eyes. Tears rebelled against my will and broke down my composure. I hated Findekáno all the more for it. 

“Artanis.” He was on his knees and gently forcing me to meet his eyes. “Will you listen to something? You must promise me that you shall not judge me, though. I could not bear that.”

“I am in hardly a fit condition to judge myself.”

“Very well.” He offered me one of his wistful smiles and returned his gaze to the fire, letting the flames dance in those grey pools. “Women imprisoned would often secret a concoction. They used it whenever they lagged in the fertility cycle. It flushes out the…” He sighed and forced himself to finish it. “It kills life.”

“It is a crime in the eyes of the Valar,” I whispered, tears again burning my cheeks.

He nodded. “There were risks, of course. If they left it very late, it was dangerous. The mental fortitude and physical strength of the woman were important.”

“Are you asking me to kill the life within me?” I was plain and blunt. I hated prevarication. And his tensed features were doing nothing to help my nerves.

“I shall raise the child as my own. None would question me. Even if they did, I can always hint at an imaginary woman of the Sindar. You need not have any part of it. You know the secret shall never pass my lips.”

I glared at him. It was not unexpected; this declaration of his. I knew he meant every word of what he had spoken. 

“I will not survive,” I said, shaken. 

I knew I would not. My pride had mattered the most to me always. Gender was a barrier I refused to acknowledge. That Findekáno continued his life without a care while I bore the pain and the disgrace of it all…No, I would not survive. Physical pain, I did not mind. But the blow to my pride, I would never recover from that.

“I will find the recipe for that concoction.” His words were strained, but still gentle. 

“There are days when I have wanted to die following his cruelty,” I said in a rushed whisper. “Days when I wanted to kill him. Sometimes it gets all too confusing and I no longer know if I remain sane.”

He did not reply. But when I wearily brought my eyes to meet his gaze, I knew he understood more than anyone ever could. 

“I am sorry,” I said fervently, though I knew it would never attain his forgiveness. “I did not mean to invade your thoughts.”

He offered a wry smile and leaned forward to kiss my cheek muttering, “Never mind that now.  
I don’t care about it as long as you promise to keep it a secret. I really cannot afford to have Nolofinwë or anyone else from our family prying in the same manner. They would not know when to stop.”

“Why was I able to do it...so easily? I have often tried to pry on Findaráto’s mind, but he would always throw me out, even when he was resting.”

He did not reply immediately. But when he did, his words spoken in those melodious, pensive tones, I knew he would never recover.

“Because they left me nothing to hide behind.”

All I could do was to nod silently and swallow the words of sympathy that threatened to escape me. He had spared my pride. It was the least I could do to return the favour. 

 

After that exacting night, our relations improved. The spectre of Macalaurë remained and would always stand between us, but we seemed to have reached a solemn, unvoiced understanding. Shared interests such as politics and healing often contributed to cosy fireside conversations that ultimately ended with us falling asleep on uncomfortable chairs.

“May I ask you something?” I asked, as we sat by the fire, facing each other. He had been looking over some reports and I was writing a letter to Findaráto.

Unaware of the handsome silhouette he made, he nodded distractedly and continued his perusal of the report. I debated for a few moments, weighing the matter in my mind.

His grey eyes flicked up curiously before returning to the parchments. “Surely it cannot be that bad, is it?”

“No and yes,” I admitted, drawing up my legs and massaging the swollen feet irritably. “It was about your love life.”

“I don’t have one,” he said simply, not bothering to look up at all. 

“That woman of your father’s forge in Formenos, she married another, didn’t she?”

“And deeply relieved I was!” he snorted. “She was incredibly fond of my ears and it caused me no end of trouble.”

He sounded so splendidly naïve and chaste that I had to laugh. The momentary confusion that crossed his features saddened me. He was yet naïve. 

“What were you going to ask?” He was serious now.

“Nothing.”

“Then let me ask you something?” He leaned back into the chair and smiled mischievously. “Did you like the prince of Doriath? He was very impressed by you.”

I glared at him, but his smile had given away to a lazy grin. Forced to concede, I said simply, “He is very attractive.”

“Findaráto said he does not have long toes,” Maitimo said briskly. “So I am afraid your brother shall not approve.”

“Well, he needn’t. I will probably never see the Sinda again.” I rubbed my sore feet again, trying to keep my thoughts off the handsome prince of Doriath. A frisson of heat warmed my body when my mind relived his hands on my waist, gently guiding me through the dances. “Do you know what my brother does with those long toes?”

“I am afraid even Turkáno’s imagination shall suffice to give you the answer!” Maitimo laughed outright and put away his work. I laughed, thinking of my dear, depraved brother’s whimsies.

My cousin settled beneath me on the carpet and pulled my legs into his lap. His fingers were more skilled than mine in soothing the pain away and helping the circulation.

“Where did you learn that?” I asked sleepily.

“I used to do it for my mother,” he replied. “Her feet were giving her trouble when she was pregnant with the twins.”

“Well, don’t let these talents go wasted, or have you sworn off women like my brother has? I hear that he is cavorting with Elwë.”

“Amarië did wreak irreparable grief,” he remarked. “He loves Elwë deeply and I understand it is requited. I think he is better off loving Elwë than Amarië, personally.”

“And you?” I asked recklessly. 

“You know who holds my regard,” he said simply. “You knew before I realized it myself.”

“Just tell him, will you?” I asked quietly. I had observed him closely. I knew my instincts were right. All he needed was persuasion.

He stopped tending to my feet and looked up crossly. 

“I mean it. How long can you hide it?” I pressed my advantage.

“It is not simple.” He continued massaging my soles. “He is married. Also, I have an understanding of sorts with Findekáno.”

“You did hint to me that you have ended the relationship with our cousin,” I argued, knowing from his trembling fingers that I had won.

“That is true. But my brother is married.”

“Let him make the choice, cousin. And I tell you, he shall not fear to choose.”

“He has been always brave,” he said quietly. “But I cannot be to him what he dreams of, Artanis. He wishes requited regard, respect and a meeting of equals. He will be severely disappointed. I can never be his equal in a relationship.”

“The pain?” I asked softly, fearing his wrath and yet wishing him to unburden himself if he might. “Why do you crave it? What makes you think that you need to be ill-treated thus?”

“It is neither here nor there.” He ran his hand through his disheveled hair and let his head fall back onto my knees, closing his eyes with a sigh. “I hate it for most of the time. But it helps, quite a lot. I don’t think you will understand. When I endure it each time, my mind is strengthened. I know that I can last. The carnal thrill is there also. I like to lose control physically while not endangering my mental detachment. I had an encounter with a Sinda during the great feast. It was mentally exhausting and terrified me. What my brother wishes of me will break me, Artanis. If he merely desired me, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But in a relationship that transcends the physical realm, I stand to lose all; pride, will and respect.”

Silence fell and his tense form betrayed his unease of the situation. I sorted out his words, trying hard to comprehend. 

“It is the emotions that make you hesitate?” I asked finally, sympathy rising in me as his jaw clenched.

“If I lose control of my detachment, all that shall be left is fear of loneliness. I will cling to whatever he offers like a dog to leftovers, for I cannot bear to be alone after knowing tenderness. I cannot afford it, Artanis. It will break my will and independence, make me his slave. I doubt that is what Macalaurë wishes of me.”

“He will accept you as you are, as you wish,” I said staunchly. “If you want pain at his hands, he will not like it, but he will do it for you.”

His eyes shot open and he said coldly, “That is exactly why I will not tell him. He deserves better than an emotionally deficit coward.”

“I deserved better than what I got. You did not deserve what you went through. I doubt that anyone of our blood shall receive what they really deserve, cousin. All we can do is to make the best of what we have.”

“We shall still make a philosopher out of you, Artanis,” he murmured lazily, stretching his limbs. “I need to leave, though. I have some things to see to before I retire.”

He was skilled in avoiding confrontations, something he had learnt from Nolofinwë. I sighed and let him make his escape. But I knew he had thawed. With persuasion and time, he would finally understand the inevitability of it.

* * *

“This is it,” he said simply. 

I stared frozen at the phial he held. His fingers were trembling and his jaw was set in that manner I knew well. 

“This is it, then,” he said again, pouring it into a goblet and stirring the contents. I rose and walked to his side. I would not think of it. I would not think of the consequences. 

“Are you sure of this?” 

His voice was fraught with emotion as he held the goblet to my lips. I met his lustrous gaze. 

“I am, cousin.” 

I wondered how my voice held no tremor. Was I braver than he was? Or perhaps it was recklessness? All I wished was that he would get on with it while my courage lasted.

He shook his head wearily and whispered, “Then open your mouth. I’ll pour it down.”

“I could do it myself,” I said gently. He would blame himself for it anyway. I did not want to add to his guilt.

“I will not allow you to take up this sin on yourself!” He spoke harshly. “If we are to kill the unborn child, then let me at least ensure that the sin falls upon me!”

“Nonsense! You know that it is well my choice to end the life that grows in me! I will take up the responsibility.”

He shook his head firmly saying, “I failed to protect you, Artanis. I will not let you kill your own child.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but he tilted the goblet and the bitter concoction flowed down my throat. I gagged and clutched my throat. The goblet fell at our feet as he used his sole hand to close my mouth and made me swallow it entirely. Our chests heaved with emotion and our gazes met. Sharp pain convulsed my insides and I gasped, leaning against him for support.

What followed was horror. Blood, pain and screams. I dimly remember my cousin’s clumsy, yet graceful hand coming to mop my brow, forcing me to drink water and holding my upper body against his own as the concoction performed its cruel task effectively. 

Namo called to me, his command unyielding and cold. I did not give in, for I was too proud to admit defeat to him. 

It was well that I lost consciousness as soon as life was expelled. As hard-hearted as I had made myself to be, even I could not have endured seeing it. It had been a part of me, unwelcome, but still a part of me.

Later, after I had recovered, my cousin would tell me that I had cursed the Gods till the end. Well, I hated them.

 

“Would you like to come to the village with me?” Maitimo was asking. 

“Shall we walk?” I asked him, too thawed by pain to bother about my pride. “I cannot ride easily yet.”

“Of course,” he said simply. “I remember that it was very painful when I rode for the first time following my return.”

“The return,” I smiled wryly. “Is that how you call it?”

“What would you call it?” he asked me as we stepped out into the faint sunlight.

“I spoke with that handsome Sinda, Mablung, during the feast, you know. He was calling you the revenant,” I remarked. 

His face was a sight to behold, as it faithfully mirrored embarrassment, disbelief, pride and something else altogether. 

“Did he know me well then?” he asked off-handedly.

“Perhaps I should not speculate,” I laughed, taking in the faint flush colouring his features. 

“Most kind of you,” he said distractedly, his eyes on the dark clouds coming from the east. 

We had a pleasant time that day, his solicitousness and easy conversation bringing a semblance of normality to my life after a long time. It was almost possible to imagine ourselves in Tirion, with not a care in the world. But I could see the Thangorodrim and it reminded me of all that had changed.

When we returned, I saw a newly planted rosebush in the middle of his courtyard, neatly hemmed in by boulders to prevent the goats from feasting upon it. So rare was any kind of garden in Himring that I paused and stared at it.

Then I saw the breadcrumbs scattered about it. It was a Sindarin tradition. They scattered food to appease Namo and often planted trees above the ashes when they lost a child by miscarriage. I turned to face my cousin, who stood awaiting me, his eyes heavy with guilt.

“I…” He waved his hand helplessly at the bush, imploring me to understand.

“It will bloom,” I said simply. “It shall.”

 

I went to Nargothrond and joined my brother. From there, I travelled to Doriath and renewed my acquaintance with Celeborn. I married him. My decision was spurred by love, and equally by a desire to escape the past. 

My kin did not approve of my marriage. I had letters from the twins and from Findekáno expressing their warm wishes for my future. My brothers did not acknowledge the marriage. Macalaurë and I remained correspondents, though the frequency of our letters decreased because of my husband’s dislike for my kin. Maitimo rarely replied to my letters, though I strove to write to him as often as I could. 

Only once did I receive a letter from him. It was weeks before the Nírnaeth Arnoediad. He had detailed a sketchy schedule of the war plans and strategies. Never before had he confided such to me. 

When my husband led a hunting party out of Doriath during the same time, the chance was too miraculous to waste. Revenge had always spurred me on equally to greatness and cruelty. I met Uldor. I arranged for Findekáno’s betrayal as coolly as if he were but a pawn on a boardgame. 

I rode to Himring immediately after that, wondering if Maitimo had intended exactly this by sending me the warplans. 

It was Macalaurë that I met, though. 

“Artanis!” he hissed. “What are you doing here? Come within! It is freezing!”

“I must go,” I said urgently, not wanting to see his features and being forced to remember the past. “My husband will miss me. And then there would be trouble. I wished to see Maitimo once before the war.”

“He is happy and would not have his domestic peace disrupted!” he exclaimed in anger. “Apparently Findekáno and he are supposed to be bonded-mates.”

“That is a lie,” I said simply. How long would they play this game of evasion? I had found the courage to rebuild my life. Surely Maitimo had it in him to do the same. 

“Why so?” he asked hopelessly. “I have seen, Artanis, and I can find no other explanation. They are drawn to each other.”

“Guard him well,” was all that I said. “I fear for him, Macalaurë, guard him well. Turkáno cannot be much of a high-king, as isolated as he is.”

“Mean you Maitimo? Or our cousin?” he asked bitterly.

“Our cousin shall perish in flames,” I said laughing bitterly, satisfaction and darkness clouding my heart as I relived my meeting with Uldor. “And well deserved shall it be, Macalaurë. Tell none this, but the crown shall rest on his unacknowledged son.”

“Maitimo has had him taught. He has a special affinity to Findekáno’s line!”

“No, ‘tis not affinity,” I said gravely. “It is his conscience. I have no more conscience left, Macalaurë, and I will see Findekáno’s line destroyed if that is the last thing I do. Much has he torn from us.”

“Come within!” He begged me as the cold wind brought with it more snow. He was growing concerned about my words, I could sense. “At dawn, I will take you to your lands myself.”

“I came alone, and I can return alone. I will be safe, I am sure. For it is not my time to grieve yet.”

Macalaurë would never know of what Findekáno had wrought on the people he loved the most. Before I left, I was seized by a desire to see the rosebush once again, for one last time. But I gathered my courage and left before grief seized me. My father’s daughter was lost. What remained were determination, cruelty and endurance. And that was enough.

 

I smiled wearily as Celeborn brought our newborn babe to me. His smug, proud grin as he held our daughter close warmed my heart and I became Artanis once more. 

“She looks so like you,” I whispered quietly as he let me take the child from him.

“My bundle of light,” he agreed as he knelt by the bed and watched the baby suckle my breast. 

“And light is not solely that which shines from the skies. The brightest is the light of your soul, for only it has no shadow,” I murmured softly to the drowsy child who was gurgling.

“Is that a prophecy?” His fingers played in my hair as he leant to kiss his daughter’s cheek.

“She is our light, my dear Silver Tree, damn the prophecies.” 

 

Doriath.

 

I cleaned his wounds quietly, forcing myself not to notice the appalling condition of his health. Perhaps I could persuade Macalaurë to let him stay under my care for a while. My husband was away and Oropher could be swayed.

“Remove your tunic, will you?” I nudged him. “I still need to inspect that wound on your chest. You must have been reckless as usual.”

“Atarinkë saved me,” he murmured. “Dior was an excellent warrior.”

“You shouldn’t have sent me a warning ahead, then,” I whispered, as I pulled off his tunic and inspected his wound. 

“I could not have acted otherwise.”

“Macalaurë shall never forgive you for their deaths,” I said quietly. 

A shudder wracked him and he leaned back against me. I had never been as good with giving comfort as Irissë was and I believed he did not deserve to be comforted. He was responsible for his brothers’ deaths. But he had held my hand when I killed Findekáno’s son. I gulped and kissed his forehead.

“Oh, Artanis!” he clutched my hand imploringly. “I cannot bear it. It is exactly as I feared.”

I held him while he spoke softly about Macalaurë’s renewed martial relations. “I knew he would return to her, Artanis,” he was saying inconsolably. “I knew I would never be enough. I should not have given in.”

I thought of Celeborn. I was fortunate. He was the most loyal husband and loving father. I was extremely fortunate. 

“You should have thought of this when you pushed him into the arms of his wife!” I exclaimed as Maitimo continued his tale of woe. I knew, I understood and I sympathized. But I had once loved Macalaurë and could not bear to hear about it. 

“I merely meant to do right by him!” he said.

“You hold that shunning him and forcing him to sire an heir is doing right by him?”

“I shall have no tongue speak that I corrupted him with my baser desires. That not only did I fail to give us an heir, but also that I prevent the rest of my kin from doing so! Have you not heard the rumours? Ereinion shrinks from my gaze, he holds me guilty for the estrangement that existed between his dead father and unhappy mother,” he replied with fury, his voice ringing in the chamber.

“Rumours and betrayals seem to be the bane of the house almost as much as vows and oaths are,” I said exhaustedly. “But tell me, Maitimo, what good will it do if you continue to push him into his wife’s embrace, pretending all the while that you don’t care when it is actually wounding you thus?”

“It kills me,” he said wearily. “And he hates me for what I have done. He shall hate me more when I give Círdan’s letter to him, for it bears news of fatherhood.” 

“Well within your rights shall he be to hate you,” I said coldly, “I should have thought that you, amongst us all, would know the worth of love since you are the most bound by it.”

I was furious with him. My cousins were dead. I had loved Atarinkë as a brother. It was all Maitimo’s fault. He had sent a letter of warning ahead and ensured that Dior was forewarned. 

 

After two days of mediating between Macalaurë and Maitimo, I decided that Maitimo deserved the greater portion of my sympathies. He was steadily worsening in health, though he refused to admit it to anyone. His evasive conversational style had worsened and I took it as a sign that he feared something would happen soon. 

“Come with me to Lindon. Ereinion shall welcome you. You cannot stay here,” he told me one starlit evening when we walked together in the silent woods.

“I am married,” I remarked. “My vows and oaths don’t converge with yours, cousin.”

“Do you truly think so?” His scalding words told me what he thought of my vows.

I did not reply. Premonition told me that I would have to fight the Gods till the end. Celeborn and my daughter were merely mirages in my life. Happiness would not last.

“What should I do?” he was asking, looking quite lost as we saw Macalaurë swimming in the lake by the caves.

“Since when have you paid heed to my advice?” I asked teasingly. “And it is very obvious what you should do. Consummate what you have.”

To his credit, he did not flinch at the suggestion. Instead, he settled for watching Macalaurë’s lithe, painfully handsome body slicing through the water. 

“I haven’t seen him like that for a long while,” I remarked as I gazed on the splendidly nude form of my former lover. “But the sight has not lost its allure, all the same.”

“Artanis!” Maitimo said, scandalized and hurt. “Must you?”

“Well, consummate your relationship and set your doubts at rest then.” I dragged him away to the shelter of the caves. 

 

My husband insisted upon leaving for the south of Lindon, where he joined the other Sindarin lords and began preparing our defences, for Moringotto was advancing steadily. There were tidings from the west, proclaiming aid. I remained with my young nephew, Telpë, for the most part, for he and I knew each other well from our days in Valinor and had an excellent rapport. 

Elros, Macalaurë’s foster-son, came to me often, bearing epistles from my cousin. Maitimo had never been a regular correspondent, but his deteriorating health made him less inclined to even scribble a few lines at the end of his brother’s letters. It worried me. He would not hear of me seeing him or being brought to Círdan or Ereinion, saying that he was quite fine and could perfectly manage by himself. 

But when Elros told me that Maitimo had sent the last of his men to join Ereinion’s forces, I rushed to my cousins. 

“How long?” Macalaurë asked me as I examined his delirious brother. 

I looked up at his set features and my heart swelled as I took in his courage. It was why I had fallen in love with him. 

“Not many weeks, Macalaurë,” I said truthfully. “If not for his will, he would not be here now.”

“He was always a stubborn fool,” he remarked easily. “He will not be pleased when he learns that you came.”

“He needn’t be pleased.” 

I walked to join Macalaurë and embraced him. My husband no longer remained faithful to me. I did not doubt his love for me, nor did I doubt his infidelity. He was not to blame. Our daughter’s coming of age had driven a wedge between us. He feared that I might draw our child into Noldorin intrigues. For my part, I had resigned myself to the duty that I had known would always be mine at the end. I would fight to procure justice for my family. 

“Artanis!” Maitimo called, slow consciousness waking his senses.

“Indeed.” I came to sit by him. “You look terrible, not very well-formed, if I may say so.”

He shot a glare at Macalaurë, but I intervened hastily. “It was my decision. I forced Elros to give me your location.”

“Very well then.” He took my hands in his. “I cannot deny that I wished to see you, cousin. Will you leave if your father comes? I know that he shall come. Promise me that you will not stay in these lands.”

“I stay.” I looked at Macalaurë. He nodded and left us in privacy. “I have reasons to stay. And most importantly, I have a cause to stay.”

“Artanis, I must-”

“No,” I said simply. “I am no longer my father’s Artanis. They call me cold and cruel. They speak the truth.”

“You could never be anything but noble and brave, Artanis.” Maitimo gathered his failing strength and squeezed my hand. “You could never be anything but your father’s beloved daughter.”

“I will not go with him, cousin. It is too late for that. Manwë will know that the blood of Finwë burns yet in me, and in me, it shall burn for long centuries ahead.”

He did not argue. His foresight was legendary. I knew he had seen more than I did. 

“I must leave ere my husband knows of the purpose of my errand.”

“Go then.” He smiled wanly. “You possibly know all that I have to say.”

“And you know what I would reply.” I bent to kiss his cheek. “Stay brave, cousin. Macalaurë will not be harmed, my heart tells me.” 

“Of course he shall not be. I will ensure that he has another--” he shrugged meaningfully. 

“He would always choose a day with you rather than a lifetime with anyone else, and that is what I love the most about him; his constancy in love.” 

“Love.” He uttered the word slowly, as if still disbelieving in its existence. “You taught me not to fear love, Artanis. I am forever indebted to you for that.”

“As shall I be indebted to you for saving my life,” I said quietly. “Much tried have we been in the past, but we have prevailed.”

He nodded. 

 

I did not see him again. When we moved to Eregion after the war, I would often find Telpë sculpting a likeness of my eldest cousin.

“It does not show life,” I remarked as I examined it after completion. It was skilfully made. But it lacked that certain, intangible something which distinguishes the magnificent from the mundane. 

“I know!” Telpë whined. “But I don’t know what I missed, Artanis!”

I spent long hours examining the bronze sculpture. It depicted my cousin gazing distantly, his hand holding back his hair, as he used to do when the wind played havoc with his unruly mane. Telpë’s skills were nearly as good as his grandfather’s. He had captured every curve and line perfectly. 

“Galadriel?”

It was Oropher. He had come to Eregion to see his cousin. Though he despised Celebrimbor, he would occasionally put aside their rivalry to pay us visits.

“A magnificent sculpture!” he exclaimed. “Your kinsman is truly talented!”

“Yes,” I nodded absently.

He walked nearer and murmured thoughtfully, “Yet something is missing...It is a faithful depiction of what he seemed to be. But not a depiction of what he was.”

“I beg your pardon?” I asked him curiously. 

“Mablung had once told me that he saw your cousin as revenant, as one who prevailed over Mandos himself. I thought it was blasphemy at the time. But I suppose he was right, in a way. Your cousin did prevail for a very, very long time; as long as he willed himself to. He chose his death...after his work was complete.”

“Careful!” I muttered. “You are dangerously near the line of sympathy.”

“Oh, but I liked him very much!” Oropher shrugged. “He reminded me of you. So many shared traits.”

“I am not revenant,” I observed. “I am a very ordinary woman, all said and done.”

Oropher’s green eyes twinkled in good-humour as he said easily, “You are the most extraordinary woman I have met.”

I did not grace the flattery with a reply.

“And I disagree on the question of being revenant. You are. Anyone who has seen death can understand that you have fought off Mandos.”

He was more perceptive than I had given him credit for. I remembered the rosebush; I remembered the long duel with Namo, the pain and the crime. 

I smiled at him and hastily made my leave from the chamber. 

It was dusk, and the sun was heading to its death slowly, as it moved westwards in that inevitable path to the horizon. But it would rise again; as would the House of Finwë. Perhaps that explained Maitimo’s deep fascination with the sun. It was revenant, after all, just as we would be at the end. 

 

xxxFINISxxx

* * *


End file.
